


you and me and one spotlight

by CrimeBrulee



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: M/M, i think i just wrote a cinderella au on accident, masquerade ball trope, mmm gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimeBrulee/pseuds/CrimeBrulee
Summary: Lio attends a masquerade ball hosted by Kray Foresight, only to be swept off his feet by a handsome, masked stranger.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 5
Kudos: 61





	you and me and one spotlight

**Author's Note:**

> This is my halloween exchange gift for Zeetrip, who said they liked dancing and masks. I figured I'd turn this into one of my fav tropes, which is Masquerade balls and dancing with strangers. :)

_Kray Foresight Foundation Charity Fundraiser._

There was a grace to the precise cursive script of these words, stitched onto the satin banner draped across the back wall of the ballroom. A vaulted ceiling and marble columns swept height into a room dazzled by crystal chandeliers over dozens of tables. The staccato tap of hundreds of shoes on obsidian tiles wove with the tinkle of silverware and the clink of champagne glasses. Feathered, glittering masks accompanied floor length gowns and crisp jackets. 

Lio Fotia stood in polished shoes and a black suit, Gueira and Meis dressed in grey by his side. He’d chosen an emerald mask, glossy in the way his armor was, but devoid of glitter. Gueira and Meis had sprung for dark blue and dark red respectively, and had spent much of last night bedazzling them so that the light caught and glinted in multitudes across them.

“What’s the plan, boss?” Meis murmured. “How are we going to do this?”

Lio hummed, taking a tiny rubber band and securing his hair into a little tuft of a ponytail, only his bangs hanging down. He surveyed the room with a general sweep of cold eyes. 

Those who weren’t lingering by the buffet had started drifting toward the dance floor, milling around while awaiting the orchestra. Kray Foresight—or anyone with his general build—was nowhere to be seen.

But he wouldn’t stay away for long. Not from his own party, where hundreds of adoring eyes would be on him. The bastard just couldn’t resist basking in the glow of his own ill-earned popularity. 

“We find Kray Foresight,” Lio said simply. “And we deliver a message.” It wasn’t a message so much as an ultimatum, Lio thought, hand closing around the tube in his pocket. “Then we leave.”

Kray Foresight would know that the Mad Burnish had set their eyes on him and his institution. He’d know that Lio Fotia would not stand for his sins against the Burnish, against humanity. And he would have to make a decision. If he made the right decision, perhaps he would skate through this ordeal unscathed. That was up to him, Lio thought, chewing on the inside of his lip.

“So, you want us to just…keep an eye out,” Meis said. “Signal you if we see him?”

“Yes, but don’t do anything conspicuous. We don’t want any unnecessary attention. I’d prefer we walk out rather than run.”

“So………you want us to dance? Eat, drink, be merry?” Gueira asked.

Lio only sighed. “If you can do so without losing sight of the mission, then yes. It would make more sense than prowling around. But keep your wits about you.”

“Can do, boss,” Gueira said, a grin unfurling unevenly across his lips.

And then, following a brief moment of an almost conversational thrum of discordant tuning in the background, the violins hummed their first note. In response, the rest of the orchestra swelled and the first melody floated through the hall. 

Scattered partygoers joined in pairs, like puppets on a string. Between notes, the tap of shoes echoed with each step. Pairs spun and broke and rejoined.

There was a certain organization to the chaos, steps bobbing and skirts blooming with each turn, like the gears to an elaborate machination, pairs revolving and sifting around other pairs. Back and forth. Back and forth. Around. A twirl. A dip. Carried by the intertwined threads of harmony.

“Have at it,” Lio muttered to the two. “He’ll show his face before long.”

Gueira made a beeline for the buffet first, eyes on the shrimp arranged in martini glasses of cocktail sauce. Lio rolled his eyes, but turned to wade through the dancefloor toward the back wall, occasionally skimming his surroundings. He expected Kray to eventually peer out down from a massive balcony, where two pairs of grand staircases converged onto a landing above the hall.

A tap on his shoulder startled him, and Lio whirled around, hands raised. He would have smacked the offender if not for the other’s quick reflexes. He’d intercepted Lio’s wrists in a surprisingly gentle hold, hands completely dwarfing his. 

“Easy—easy,” the guy said. All Lio could see on his face was a broad grin and the twinkle of blue eyes from behind a garish orange, feathered mask. “I didn’t mean to startle you—” Spikes of blue hair spilled out over his mask like water bursting through a dam.

“My apologies,” Lio said, gently extracting his hands. “I was just lost in the music.”

The man hovered, lost in the thread of hesitation that lingered between swells of the music. 

The song faded out, but another unfurled from its wake.

The man cleared his throat awkwardly. “I just couldn’t help but notice you were all alone on the floor is all, and so I thought to myself—what would a gentleman do in this situation? Allow someone to wander around on the dancefloor unaccompanied? I don’t think so! So—would you like to dance?” He emphasized the question with an elaborate, clumsy bow and an outstretched hand.

Lio blinked.

 _Just who is this fool,_ he thought, eyes scathing up and down his figure. _A poster child for goddamn cool ranch doritos?_ The well-fitted suit only accentuated broad shoulders that cinched into a neat waist. Even under all of that starched fabric, Lio could make out the curve and bulge of a muscular frame.

“Fine,” Lio said. “One dance can’t hurt.”

This was purely strategic, he told himself, accepting his hand. He would attract less attention if he blended into the crowd, and he could keep an eye on things.

Their hands had barely brushed when the other yanked him close, fingers interlacing with Lio’s as his other hand pressed on the small of his back.

Lio felt utterly and completely _dwarfed_ next to this stranger and at a total loss for how _gentle_ his touch was. He was paranoid the other could feel the erratic tempo of a heart leaping into his throat or his sweaty palms where they grasped hands.  
  
_What the hell was this?_ Lio chided himself. He’d burned down buildings, raided cities, dodged bullets—all without breaking a sweat. How could this man evoke such a response in him with such a casual indifference?

And then they started to move, the man leading step by step—simple, at first, back and forth, their feet locked into a pattern of give and take. 

“Is it okay if I give you a little twirl?” the man asked. 

“Uh, sure,” Lio said. He prayed a silent thanks to every god he could think of that the mask hid the burning in his cheeks.

The stranger drifted back, one hand taking Lio’s up above his head so he spun beneath it, then caught him again, anchoring him back against him. That same smile dazzled Lio. The gentle sway and rhythm settled like an aroma around him. It was all he breathed, all he could feel. 

“You’re not a bad dancer,” Lio managed, breath hitching into the shared space between their mouths. Just inches, really, if this stranger were to crane his neck down and if Lio were to stand on his toes-- Lio wrenched his gaze away from this stranger’s lips. His heart pounded a little harder.

“Took lessons,” the stranger said, grinning. “I’ve been looking forward to this event for months.” He chuckled breathlessly. “I really wish I could like, ask your name or something, but I think it defeats the purpose of the masquerade.”

Lio blinked. “I suppose it does,” he responded. He allowed a few breaths to calm himself. Just what was he thinking anyway? He was Lio Fotia, leader of the Mad Burnish and the last line of defense between Freeze Force and hundreds of innocent burnish. He couldn’t just _go weak at the knees_ at the first man who bothered to hold him close in years— Besides, he’d hate him if he knew what he was--

“You okay?” the man asked.

Lio shuddered but nodded. “Yes, I’m sorry, I was just lost in thought. I’m not used to dancing.”

The man stopped them, and they stood like a rock in the middle of a swirling stream. He did not let go.

“Don’t want you to get too dizzy,” he said, with that same smile. “We can just stand still a moment.”

Lio nodded. A quick skim upwards revealed no signs of Kray. _Lio, focus_ , he told himself.

But how could he, when this stranger peered into his eyes, their bodies still tucked together in the middle of the flourish of movement and music. Lio’s lips wedged apart, just slightly. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

“Can I kiss you?” the stranger blurted out.

Lio blinked. “What?”

“I’m sorry—I just—”

Lio felt himself nod. “Yes,” he blurted out, just as quickly. 

And he felt this stranger hook his fingers under his chin with tenderness that churned at his insides and made his head swim. The stranger closed the gap between them with a slight tilt, mask knocking against mask and as their lips brushed. Everything else fell away.

There was no music, no movement, no weak knees and steady palms. No Kray Foresight, no mission, no aching gnaw of responsibility crushing Lio under its constant, urgent weight.

There was just this man and his arm hooked around the small of his back and quiet, shared breaths between kisses. And Lio let him support him, sinking in closer as he felt the floor vanish too, seeking quiet intoxication from the chalice of his lips. His eyes slipped shut and he let himself succumb.

But then, three sharp buzzes in Lio’s pocket wrenched him back into reality so quickly that his head spun.

The signal—

Lio pulled his face to one side. “I’m sorry. I have to be somewhere.” He pushed himself free—a perilous motion, like he was shoving himself from the safety of a ledge into freefall.

“But when can I see you again—” the man said, grasping at Lio’s hand.

Lio’s glove came away into this stranger’s hand as Lio tugged free, but he did not pause to look back as he pushed into the crowd.

And Galo Thymos was left staring as the crowd closed back around Lio Fotia’s retreating back, the glove still hanging from his hand.


End file.
